


The Beat Between Measures

by OneOfThoseThings



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alien Gender/Sexuality, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Episode: Revolution of the Daleks, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, I got feelings in my PWP, I'm not sure that needs its own tag it's really just Doctor Who canon, Missing Scene, Old Friends, One Shot, Porn with Feelings, Rating Rounded Up (for Safety), Straight up sex, Telepathic Sex, VERY old in this case
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:55:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28668843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneOfThoseThings/pseuds/OneOfThoseThings
Summary: After decades in a prison cell, the Doctor can’t quite talk herself into showering in her room alone. And Jack’s never been one to turn down company.(A missing scene from Revolution of the Daleks, in which the Doctor and Jack get a proper reunion.)
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/Jack Harkness
Comments: 14
Kudos: 86





	The Beat Between Measures

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Quercusrobur](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quercusrobur/gifts).



> Extra thanks to my beloved beta reader, Quercusrobur, who inspired this whole thing by throwing around random compliments about my disregard for classic gender roles in all these frisky fanfics I seem to be writing lately. They've also written one of the best Jack/Thirteen fics I've ever read. Oh, and they are, as usual, the only reason this thing isn’t littered with typos.

“It’s just a room.” The Doctor stared at her seldom-used room and couldn’t quite make herself step inside. “It’s not a cell. It’s _my_ room,” she reminded herself. The TARDIS thrummed a warm welcome under her feet, and there were tickling little touches against her mind, looking for needs to fill. Her shower started up in the ensuite and that really was tempting, but she still couldn’t seem to get herself to it. “It’s just a _room,_ ” she said again. 

The TARDIS chittered and the water shut off, replaced by the urge to see whether the Captain had located _his_ room yet. 

“You’re getting less subtle as we get older,” the Doctor grumbled, but let her ship nudge her down the corridor. 

With its military feel, Jack’s room was actually more cell-like than her own, but his prison uniform was crumpled at the end of the bed and his signature 51st century pheromones hung in the air like neon signs broadcasting the presence of _life_. 

Stepping into an old companion’s room was always an odd experience, like travelling through the Vortex unshielded. It looked just like she remembered it. She might as well have stepped out of it yesterday. 

There was water running in the background and the door to his ensuite was ajar, leaking a steady stream of steam.

The Doctor was already pushing her way inside the ensuite without really deciding to do so. 

She immediately spotted Jack, standing in the shower that he’d never bothered to even frost over for modesty’s sake. He had his eyes closed with his head tilted down under the water, and there was an odd, weighty bend to his back, making it easy to believe his stories that he’d inspired a few statues over the years. “Greek Gods,” he’d said, winking, but Atlas seemed more accurate. 

His eyes blinked open, slanting her way, and the odd tilt vanished, replaced by an easy stretch and casual smile. “Enjoying the show?” 

The Doctor scoffed. “You really never change, do you?” 

Jack’s expression seemed to flicker, but it must have been the light, because then he was right back to grinning. “If it ain’t broke.” He nudged the shower door open with two knuckles. “Care to join me?” 

The Doctor eyed the narrow opening. “I’ve my own shower.” 

“Sure you do,” Jack said, nudging the door a little wider. “But has the TARDIS learned to wash your back?” The TARDIS twittered, flickering the lights, and Jack’s eyes twinkled. “Plenty of room for one more,” he added, sing-song. 

The stark prison uniform itched something awful and the Doctor could not have been more aware of the coarse feel of her hair against her own scalp. “Do you humans still take your showers scalding?” she asked, eyeing the steady puff of steam. 

Jack immediately twisted one of the dials with the hand not propping the door open and the steam thinned significantly. “I’m very flexible,” he reminded her. 

The Doctor couldn’t quite hold back a scoff at that understatement of the millenia, but her hands went to her own collar, undoing the stiff buttons. “Not even sure if my room has shampoo these days. Been awhile since I checked.” 

Jack inclined his head toward the shelf of bottles lining the far wall of the shower. “Fully stocked here,” he said breezily. 

“The TARDIS always spoiled you,” the Doctor said, stripping off her jumpsuit and stepping inside in one brisk motion. She hissed at the temperature and Jack snuck a hand around, twisting the dial further. “It’s fine,” she said, twisting it back to what had to be ‘tepid’ at best for the immortal. “Don’t want you catching pneumonia and whining about it for the next thousand years.” 

Jack’s knuckles were preternaturally warm under her grip, but she tried not to flinch away from the sting, knowing she _could_ acclimate if she’d just give it a moment. 

Jack held himself painfully still, like she might not notice him if he didn’t make any sudden movements. Like his mere presence didn’t ache at the back of her teeth. Like she couldn’t feel him like a white hot poker forced between the threads of Time itself. 

“Would you―?” The Doctor flinched, minutely, and Jack snatched his hand back like she’d bitten him. “I could grab a loofah?” he offered. 

“Just give it a second,” she said, turning to face him and trying not to remember the last time she’d come too close to a supernova. She was eye-level with his throat, and _that_ was new _and annoying_ , but it gave her a handy excuse not to look him in the eye. She leaned in the last few inches, resting her forehead against his clavicle, and it was like leaning into a white dwarf, but she knew it’d die down if she could just get through the initial burn. 

“Doc?” Jack’s hands hovered awkwardly, but he held perfectly still otherwise.

“Just been awhile,” she said, and tilted her head to the side, listening to his constant heart miss a beat or two. “Need a minute.” 

Jack huffed something like a laugh, chest jumping against her cheek. “Nothing but time here.” 

The Doctor closed her eyes, willing the burn down. “Nineteen years, you said?” 

She felt Jack shrug. “Like I said― I’ve got time to spare.” 

The ache in her teeth spiked and started to settle, fading to something she could work around. “How long has it been aside from that?” 

Jack shrugged again. “Easy to lose track. How long for you?” 

“Twelve hundred years,” the Doctor said, and then heard herself add a begrudging, “…Give or take a few billion.”

Jack barked out a more genuine laugh. “Hell of a rounding error you have there.” 

“Had a spot of trouble with a confession dial,” the Doctor said. Jack didn’t ask and for some reason she heard herself explaining, “Not sure whether it really counts if it’s on a loop.” 

“… _I_ might not be the one to ask about what counts,” Jack admitted. He put one hand at the back of her head, fingertips barely connecting, and when she didn’t violently shove him away he let his palm touch down as well. She took a deep breath in and let it back out, blinking the burn back. “…All right?” he asked.

 _That_ made her look up, and she had to crane her neck a bit to do it. “You’ve never asked me _that_ before.” It came out like an accusation. 

Jack looked embarrassed, a rare expression on the shameless immortal. “Right,” he said. The hand settled more firmly against the back of her head and he plastered on his usual easy-going grin. “Never mind that. How _can_ I be of service today?” His brows waggled enticingly. 

“Stop it,” she chided and moved around to get under the spray properly, closing her eyes. “Do you have any shampoos that won’t give me a headache?” 

“Hmm,” Jack hummed thoughtfully and took a half step back, no doubt reaching for the shelf. 

The Doctor’s hands shot out, snatching at his waist. Jack startled, muscles jumping under her grip, but put his own hand back on her shoulder. “Warming up to the burn a little, are we?” he commented casually. 

“You don’t mind, do you?” she thought to ask.

Jack chuckled. “ _You’ve_ never asked _me_ _that_ before,” he parroted back. The hand on her shoulder snuck over to her neck, and his thumb rested far too casually against her pulse. “It _is_ you, right?” he teased, and it wasn’t quite as light as he must’ve meant, but she left him to it, tilting her head back. 

“The one and only,” she sighed, letting the water trickle over her face. Jack stroked his thumb over her pulsepoint again and then a bottle clicked open, immediately flooding the space with an artificial scent. The Doctor wrinkled her nose, but Jack sniffed and closed it again, picking something else up. The third bottle had a more tolerable, earthy tone, and she ducked back out of the spray to squint at it. “That should do.” 

Jack gave her a wry look. “Are you somehow even pickier this go around?” He squeezed some gel out into his hand and stepped back.

The Doctor followed immediately, glaring at the reflex. “I can do it myself!” 

Jack pulled the bottle out of her half-hearted reach. “I’ve already got it out,” he said, and slipped the hand with the shampoo into her hair in the same easy motion. 

The Doctor grumbled about liberties, but, as always, Jack took her lack of violence as enthusiastic consent and just got on with it. He slid both hands into her hair, stroking his fingers over and through. Then he scratched his neatly-trimmed nails in little lines across her scalp with just the right amount of pressure. She lost track after that. 

“Rinse,” he said eventually, but she wasn’t really listening, too busy trying to get him back over to her temporal bone. “Doc,” he tried again, and she whined a vague objection, tilting her head.

“Right, here we go,” he said, and his voice sounded a little rough, but she didn’t really care about that either until he pressed forward, trying to herd her back under the water. 

The Doctor braced against the unexpected push, planting herself, and Jack was suddenly flush against her. He was also noticeably hard, though it took her a beat to reconcile the unexpected angle, pressed into her abdomen thanks to the stupid height difference. 

“Jack,” she chided, very nearly clicking the ‘k’ out of long-forgotten habit.

Jack groaned and rocked in just a bit before backing off again. “Can hardly blame me!” he grumbled.

“‘M tryin’ to shower,” she pointed out, but stepped back under the water without bothering to open her eyes. 

“Yep.” Jack’s voice was doing that odd thing again, but he stepped back into reach and helped her rinse, moving her hands out of the way to do it himself. There was a long pause and then he started back in with an all too casual, “You know… I could think of some other ways to relax. If you’d like.” 

The Doctor couldn’t quite keep her mouth from quirking. “Still haven’t evolved out of that yet, eh?” 

The hands in her hair twitched, but carried on coaxing the suds out. “You and I know better than anyone that humans don’t evolve _away_ from that.” He carried on stroking for a bit longer than was strictly necessary, but pulled one hand back. “Conditioner?” 

“Aw, more scents?!” she whined, wrinkling her nose.

Jack just chuckled and started back up with the bottles. “It’s _your_ ship providing the options.” He snapped something open, flooding the space with the scent of pine needles, and snapped it closed again, fishing around. 

“It’s you humans. She always wants to spoil you,” the Doctor told him.

“Mmhmm.” Jack tried another bottle and the shower filled with the scent of synthetic apples. His grip faltered and she heard him inhale again, more deeply. “Oh,” he said, clearly still recognizing Rose’s brand after all these years. He inhaled again, more quietly. 

“Jack,” the Doctor snapped, but it came out like a plea. 

“Right,” he mumbled, taking one last sniff, before setting that one back down. The hand in her hair slid down a bit, and she felt him taking the ends between his fingers. “…You, uh…”

“Don’t!” she cut him off, slitting her eyes open to make sure he listened for once. 

Where her current companions would have surely flinched away, Jack barely seemed to register the tone. He just looked back at her with horrible, unmistakable sympathy, born of experience she never would have wished on anyone. 

“I miss her too,” he said simply, and then turned to resume his hunt for conditioner. 

“You’re not going to try to make me talk about it?” Without his eyes on her, it was somehow easier to ask. “Humans are always on about how it helps to talk about it.” 

Jack carefully selected a new bottle, took a sniff, and held it out for inspection. “I’m sure it helps the first few thousand times,” he said evenly. 

The Doctor gave a single curt nod and handed him the bottle back. She flicked a glance at the shelf, but couldn’t see the apple label. “Suppose you’d know.” 

“Suppose I would.” Jack coaxed her back out of the water and started massaging in the conditioner without further comment. 

The Doctor stepped in a bit closer than was strictly necessary, discreetly inhaling his familiar scent, now lacking the sterilized prison overlay. “Won’t need me to return the favor, eh?” she asked, taking another whiff. 

“If you’re _offering_ …” She could practically hear him smirk. 

The Doctor snorted. “Would probably get a crick in me neck.” She rocked up onto her toes a bit, squinting her eyes open to confirm that she barely cleared his chin. 

Jack smiled winsomely. “Not if I got on my knees.” 

The Doctor laughed, surprising herself. “You _really_ never change!” 

“Never ever,” he said and his tone was light but his smile took on a strange tilt. She squinted a little, but he just went back to stroking long fingers through her hair. “Loofah while it sets?” he offered with a shameless look down and up. 

“I’ve been in prison, not paralyzed,” the Doctor reminded him, and reached around him for what looked like her own unscented cleanser. She poured a bit onto the loofah, pointedly ignoring his pout, and started briskly lathering herself up. “I’ll do your back if you do mine.” 

Jack beamed like a kid at Christmas and started soaping himself up like she might change her mind if he took too long. He managed the whole thing in seconds and spun in place, turning a hopeful look back over his shoulder. 

“Yes, all right,” she said, trying for ‘long-suffering,’ but sounding far too fond even to her own ears. She just used her own loofah, following the lines of muscle groupings that jumped eagerly under each brush. “Got you with that hair removal treatment too, did they?” she asked rhetorically, just to fill the air. 

“Did yours itch?” Jack asked, tilting a look back at her as best he could. “Mine _itched!_ ” 

“Worst part of the intake,” the Doctor agreed, scratching absently at her own arm just at the memory. “I tried tellin’ ‘em Time Lords don’t produce bacteria, but they just kept barking on about ‘hygienic procedures.’” She rubbed one bare calf against the other, still a bit put out, if she was honest. 

“Definitely not going on my list of spa recommendations,” Jack agreed, and then went ramrod straight as the Doctor bent down to swipe at the backs of his legs. “…Though it’s growing on me just now…”

The Doctor circled the loofah over the back of one calf and absentmindedly pressed her palm up the other. “Seems a bit speciesist, doesn’t it?” Jack’s gastrocnemius hardened under her hand. “Is that ticklish?” 

“You’re kidding, right?” Jack angled around, but couldn’t quite manage to get a look behind his own calf. 

She realized she’d casually braced her other hand a bit higher on the back of his other thigh, dripping suds down the inside. “Ah,” she said. “Sorry.”

“Don’t _apologize!"_ he said indignantly, but she was already getting back up. 

“You said you’d do my back,” she reminded him and nearly got herself spun face-first into the glass. “Jack!” 

He was already sweeping the loofah over her shoulders and down her spine. “Do you still like backrubs?” he asked.

She rankled a bit just at the thought. “Don’t think so,” she admitted, and then found herself adding, “Not loving the grabbing this go around.” 

“No grabbing,” Jack confirmed, and the hand on her hip flattened where it had previously been curled. “Got it.” The loofah dipped daringly lower. “Anything else?”

“Hard to say,” she admitted, widening her stance just enough for him to sweep up the inside of one thigh and then the other. “My last me _hated_ being touched. Bit hard to shake that off.” Jack paused and she tried to twist around to look at him but didn’t have much more success than he’d had. “What?”

“Was that a hint?” he asked, voice carefully neutral. 

“What?” she asked again, and had to step over his knee to look around properly. “You think I’m daft enough to try warding _you_ off with _hints_?!”

Jack looked up from where he was crouched a bit awkwardly. “Do you have to say it like _that?_ ” He tried for a pout, not caring that he was several millennia past being able to pull it off. 

“Just get up here,” she told him. “I’m starting to congeal.” She stepped back under the spray, and felt him follow a moment later. The water sluiced everything away, like it always did, and she did a quick check to make sure she hadn’t missed any spots. It was a small matter to include Jack in that confirmation as well. As usual, he just let her do as she pleased, not seeming to think anything of her prodding for remnants of the cleanser. 

“Do I pass inspection?” he asked after her third check. 

“Suppose you’re as clean as you’re going to get,” she said and reached to turn off the taps. “Towels?”

Jack blinked down at her. “Why are you asking _me?_ Can’t the TARDIS―?”

“No, don’t!” the Doctor shoved a hand over his mouth, but it was too late. The TARDIS had already registered the request. Jack yelped as the shower became a sudden windtunnel, blasting air out of every corner and crevasse. The whole affair lasted exactly forty-seven seconds and then cut off just as suddenly with a cheery little blip from the ship.

Jack blinked eyes that were much wider than they’d been a minute ago. " _What_ the―?” 

“This is _exactly_ why I shut off the direct companion connections after Clara,” the Doctor griped, shoving her hair back out of her face. 

“Well, it’s efficient,” Jack offered, and ran a hand through his own hair. He grimaced a little and did it again, turning toward the mirror, fussing with it. “Think your ship might be a little starved for human contact there.” He patted the wall as he opened the door and the TARDIS thrumming increased noticeably. “Does no one talk to you anymore, you lovely thing?” 

“Don’t flirt with mah ship,” the Doctor chided, still trying to swipe her hair back with limited success. 

“She doesn’t mind,” Jack said and blew a kiss at nothing in particular. “Do you, old girl?” 

The TARDIS rumbled, practically purring. 

“You two knock that off!” the Doctor said and turned to Jack. “Are we not in the middle of something?”

Jack’s brows shot up into his hairline, but he was already stepping forward. “ _Are_ we?”

The Doctor heaved an exasperated sigh. “I am _familiar_ with human courtship rituals, you know!” 

“ _Courtship?_ ” Jack repeated, grinning ear-to-ear.

“Well, whatever you want to call it…” She waved a hand, but he caught it, pulling her into his space and ducking down for what was admittedly a very nice kiss.

One hand slid behind her head, getting uncomfortably close to grabbing, but he pulled it back before she’d done much more than notice it. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, and then leaned right back in, lips moving against hers so carefully, like she was something precious spun out of glass. 

The Doctor leaned back, grimacing. “Don’t do _that._ ” 

Jack blinked his eyes open with a gutted look like that first time she’d admitted to abandoning him. “Don’t do _what?_ ” he asked, and there was an odd, desperate undertone, like he thought he’d failed some great test. 

The Doctor narrowed her eyes. “You’ve never been afraid to kiss me before, Captain.” 

Jack started to wince and then stopped, his expression tilting right back over to hopeful. “ _That’s_ your problem?! _That_ is _not_ a problem!” He ducked back in again, recapturing her mouth with a great deal less hesitation, and she didn’t even mind that hand that snuck back into her hair, while the other curled just under her jaw. 

Jack tasted the same as he always had and it shouldn’t have been that comforting, but it was, somehow. The Doctor angled a bit, licking at his lower lip and he let her in almost before she’d thought to ask. There was a sharp undertone that still made her teeth ache, and Jack kissed like a man condemned, but there was something so honest about it. 

The Doctor pulled him closer and her own hand fisted at the back of his head before she felt him wince and forced it back open. “Sorry,” she mumbled, flexing her fingers. She was always doing that in this body― snatching too tightly. It was one of the reasons she tried to keep her hands to herself around the fam. 

Jack made a vague inquisitive noise, eyes blinking back open too close to focus. She had a blurry impression of blue the color of rain over mountains before he pulled back enough to see properly. “What?” he asked, brow knitting. 

“Didn’t mean to pull,” she mumbled, trying to coax him back down without letting her hand close this time. 

Jack leaned back in, but paused at the last moment. “What?” He pulled back to blink and then smiled, inexplicably delighted. “Oh, _I_ don’t mind!” He caught her hand with his, pressing it into the back of his own head. “Pull away! Not going to break _me!_ ” He bent right back down, and when she clenched again automatically he just groaned approval and tried to lick the back of her teeth. 

The Doctor leaned into it a bit more, and Jack took full advantage, coaxing her back into his room. His hands traced scalding paths down her back and sides. 

Humans always ran hot, but Jack burned like the core of a dying star. She was a little surprised not to see welts on her own skin, but it was hard to begrudge him the contact when he curled into her like she was the first warm thing he’d felt in centuries. 

Her knees hit the bed and she sat down, pulling him with her, but he paused again, turning his head just enough to the side to gasp, “We’re on the same page here, right?” 

“How could _I_ possibly know what page _you’re_ on?” the Doctor mused rhetorically, but dragged them both a bit more toward center. “Unless it’s the same page you’re _always_ on.” 

“ _Doc,_ ” Jack begged like it hurt just to get the word out. One hand was braced behind her shoulder, clenched so tightly it was a surprise he hadn’t torn something. 

“It was a long time,” she mumbled into his clavicle. “I’d…” Her hands clenched again and he hissed at the dig into his shoulder blade. “I don’t want to be alone right now… Do _you?_ ” Jack held very still and she could just _feel_ him turning it over in his mind. “You, er, remember about touch telepathy, right?” she asked awkwardly. 

“Hm?” His head twitched to the side, glancing her way, and she knew the moment he processed that because he somehow went even more stiff. “Oh!” There was a strange ripple of tension, like she could feel his fight-or-flight response being shaken off. “…Guess that makes sense,” he said finally, holding himself like he was suspended over open flames. A frisson of doubt was ruthlessly squashed, overwhelmed by a wave of impossibly pure determination. “I don’t mind if you don’t,” he offered, almost shyly. 

She rolled him under, kissing him a bit more recklessly, and he groaned and brought his knees up, bracing her between steady limbs. His hands stroked restlessly over whatever parts he could reach, but the left kept returning to her chest. On the third pass, she noted he was actually a bit higher than she might have expected, and on the fourth she finally realized that he kept pausing in the same place, with the heel of his hand over one of her hearts and his fingertips spanning the second. 

“Do you _really_ think I could be anyone else?” she asked, and couldn’t quite keep from laughing at his hazily bewildered expression. She tapped the back of his hand with two fingers and he startled, looking embarrassed for possibly only the second time in his long life.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, fingers twitching. “I just…” He glanced away and back again. “…I’ve _really_ missed you…” 

The Doctor felt something dark and dangerous well up and kissed him again before it could spill out of either of them. She left the hand on her chest where it was, but groped around for the one he had carefully left open-palmed over her arse. “Never mind what I said about grabbing,” she said, and her own breath glanced back at her, warmed by his skin. “It’s fine now. Encouraged, even.”

Jack made a curious sound in the back of his throat and his long fingers curled in, gripping tentatively at first and then more boldly by the second. 

“Not _too_ hard,” she instructed, but trusted him to fill in the details himself. He kneaded a bit, experimentally, and then made an interesting rippling movement that started in his little finger and moved inward. She rumbled approval and let her own hands wander, casually tracing muscle groupings and experimenting with levels of pressure. She wondered whether the taste changed and bent down to find out, licking experimentally at the top of a pectoral before tracing it over to his latissimus dorsi. His pheromones picked up under his arm, but he twitched away before she could investigate much further. 

“Doc, that _tickles!_ ” he protested, but didn’t seem to mind nearly as much when she moved her attention to the underside of his arm. He was starting to dig into her abdomen a bit and she wedged a hand down between them. “Ah!” His hips jerked up, jostling her, but she managed to ride the next wave and the one after that without accidentally tightening her fist. 

“Don’t jostle me,” she warned, but gave him a solid stroke, earning a string of curses. “And watch your language!” she chided around his abdominals, and chuckled as that earned an even filthier string. 

“Are you―?” Jack gasped, hands scrabbling at her back. “Can I―?” He jerked in her grip, skin tightening delightfully. 

The Doctor hummed a vague affirmation and was surprised to find herself flipped onto her back for it. “Wh―?” Jack gave her a smile that made his eyes crinkle at the corners and made an undulating motion with his whole body that really shouldn’t have been nearly as interesting as it was. His uncomfortably warm torso covered hers completely and it should have been smothering, but he braced just enough and the weight was an odd comfort, after so long without more than a thin prison blanket. 

And in the end, it _was_ _Jack_. Even without the sensations leaking through his half-hearted mental shielding, Jack had never made his devotion a secret. He loved her, in that strange, human way that he loved so many. And it bled through just as steadily as ever, even after a thousand years.

“I missed you too,” she admitted, and he jerked around to stare at her with a look far too close to worshipful. “Don’t look so surprised,” she grumbled, purposefully misreading it. 

Jack smiled so brightly it hurt to look at him, so she just pulled him back down into a kiss that he was more than happy to return. She’d been around the so-called block a few times over the millenia, but Jack seemed to have devoted every one of his endless years to his favorite pastime and his enthusiasm was certainly catching. He rocked in again and again, pressing in slightly different places each time, and honestly, of all the ways species thought to connect, humans didn’t have the worst ideas by half. He shifted his weight, snaking one hand between them, and formed some sort of question against her ear. 

“Yeah,” she gasped, and was rewarded with three scalding hot fingers angling _just_ so. “Ah!” 

Jack chuckled, sounding a bit out-of-breath himself, and swept down and up, gathering moisture, before homing back in on rigid nerve clusters. “Just there,” she encouraged, kneading at the back of his neck, and she nearly choked on the wave of indescribably thrilling sensations that echoed back through every point of contact. 

Her hand slipped up, fisting at the back of his head again, and he flinched at the pull before she remembered to let go. “Sorry―“ she gasped, but he braced himself up on an elbow and snatched her hand right back, pressing it in harder than she had. 

“No, it’s good!” he insisted, and she felt it as much as she heard it, with his face shoved into her neck and his breath searing across her pulse. “Means I can’t be dreaming.” 

He made that flickering finger movement with his other hand, distracting her, and she clenched again, earning a raggedy groan and a stuttering thrust of his hips against her thigh. 

“Say if it’s too much,” she ordered, but it came out like more of a plea. And he made a fascinating sound, somewhere between a moan and a whimper when her other hand dug into the space between muscles, hard enough for her to feel each individual ligament tighten. 

“No such thing,” he groaned and it sounded like it _hurt,_ but the feelings bleeding through their contact were all the darkest pleasures. 

The sensations built like a wave, ebbing in and out, stronger on every other beat. The Doctor let her own shields down a bit, echoing back, and Jack moaned like he was dying, but he just crowded in closer and closer. 

The tension snapped, taking her by surprise, and Jack jerked like he was trying to pull back, but she only clutched him closer. He made a frustrated keening sound, but clutched her right back, still working her through the spasms, until she let him go. 

Jack went immediately up onto his elbow, and he was _pouting_ of all things. “I wanted to watch!” he said, bright eyes scanning her face like he was going to need to sculpt it from memory later. 

She stretched a bit, lazily. “Should’ve said.” 

“Touch telepath!” he pointed out, but they both knew he was giving himself away through that same connection. 

“Could watch the next one,” the Doctor offered, sliding her thigh against him, and chuckling at his immediate eager thrust. “Not down for the count yet, am I?” She angled more purposefully and he groaned, rocking in, before pulling back. “Oi!” He backed off entirely and the room was suddenly intolerable cold for the loss of cover. “Where do you think you’re goin?!”

Jack dodged her clumsy grab, shifting lower. “No refractory period, right?” He smiled like temptation personified. “Means I don’t have to wait to do this.” He bent down, broad shoulders flexing, and speared his scaling hot tongue right into her still-sensitized nerves. 

“Ah!” The Doctor jack-knifed upright, and probably would have kicked him if he hadn’t already been pinning her legs with his own weight. “Jack!” Her hands went right to his head, but she managed not to clutch at the last moment. 

Jack smiled and pressed the flat line of his teeth right where she wanted it, radiating smug satisfaction even without the benefit of the telepathic connection. He flattened one palm against her belly, and she felt the contact strengthen, adding a chaotic jumble of anticipation for something that was already in progress. 

The Doctor meant to warn him not to get cocky, but there was something in the way he looked up through his lashes that made her bite that back, twisting around for better access instead. Jack pulled her legs up onto his shoulders as casually as he put on braces and when she leaned back onto her elbows his eyes followed the movement as surely as sunflowers tracking the sun. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” she groaned, shifting restlessly.

His brows arched up, apparently trying for innocent. The continuous suction and clever mouth moving against her rather ruined the effect. 

“I’m not…” She couldn’t quite get the words out. She wasn’t a god. Or a savior. Or anything more than a wanderer, stealing time from species too dazzled to notice the price. 

No one should know that better than Jack, but he looked up with all of his unnatural knowledge and still had the nerve to look at her with the same awe as the 51st century ex-Time Agent seeing his first great mythical Time Lord. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” she pleaded. 

Jack pulled back and it occurred to her that she really could have waited a bit, but he was smiling, of all things. “After all these years, you think I still have you up on some pedestal?” His eyes crinkled at the edges again, showing lines that she was _sure_ hadn’t been there the last time. “I can know you’re not perfect and still love you,” he said, and it took a moment to register, because she was distracted by the sheer certainty that no human ever lived long enough to manage properly. 

She couldn’t quite keep from objecting. “You can’t―“ 

Jack interrupted. “Are _you_ going to tell _me_ I’m too young to understand? Too inexperienced? Too _naive?_ ” He smiled again, but there was steel underlying it. Jack might hide it well, but he knew he was damned. And they both knew it was her fault. “Can’t you at least trust me to know my own heart?” 

Something fragile flickered behind his endless eyes, but he hid that away in the next blink and at least he still had that much self-preservation instinct. 

“Suppose I owe you that much,” the Doctor said, trying for casual. 

Jack gave her a long steady look and then eased right back into his usual cocky grin. “Now if you’re all done with that, I’d personally like to get back to this shag for the centuries.” 

“Oh?” The Doctor leaned back, cocking a brow. “Who with?” 

Jack tried for another pout and it was only getting more ineffective with his hair skewed all over the place and his eyes crinkling at the edges. “Don’t be like that! This is some of my best work!” He grinned, lips shining, and added a sing-song, “You can be as rough as you like.” 

“It’s this body!” the Doctor said defensively. “It always seems to grab things too hard! And I think it’s more sensitive too!” She kicked her heels in a bit at his cocky look. “Not like _that!_ Like― everything’s too loud! Or too bright! Or just too much!”

Jack’s grip loosened for the first time. “…Is _this_ too much?” 

“No, not _you!_ ” she snapped, exasperated. “And don’t you start flinching too now! I’ve got plenty of _that_ waiting for me― Ah!” She jolted, coming off the bed as Jack took that as his cue to resume his exploration, diving right back in without preamble. “ _Jack!_ ” 

“Not flinching,” he mumbled, but it was almost completely unintelligible, pressed into her still-sensitized flesh. 

“That’s _not_ what I― Ok, _just_ there!” She wasn’t hard to talk back into it. Might have a worry about that later. “You’re not―“ She hissed as he licked a long line up the central ridge. “You’re not half bad at this.” 

Jack rumbled, clearly enjoying himself, and she dug her heels into his back hard enough to feel the little restless shifts as they both relaxed back into it. 

After only a few minutes, she realized she was holding off, and then realized she didn’t have to do that anymore. “Jack,” she called, by way of warning. “I’m―“

Jack’s eyes slit open, looking up at her and he added a little flick with his tongue and that was it. Her whole body tensed and then just let go and Jack drank it in like the essence of life itself. 

He didn’t back off until she nudged him off herself and then he was right back up at eye-level ―or thereabouts― leaning in with his whole body like he wanted to pull her into his own skin just for the closeness. 

His enthusiasm bled through every point of contact and it really all should have been too much, but it was _Jack_ and it was so hard to be suspicious of someone who wanted nothing more than to be as close as possible. 

The Doctor wanted him just as close, if she was honest. Even though it should have been full sensory overload, Jack was nothing if not stable. The fixed point set her teeth on edge, but it was a constant ache. Predictable. 

Reliable. 

It took a couple of tries to get him to roll, but he backed off when she finally got her knee up and then he fairly yanked her on top of himself, trying to flatten her right back down. 

It occurred to her on an unacceptable delay that she might not be the only one feeling a bit touch-starved after so many years in various square cells. And she took a moment to give into it on his behalf this time, trying to map his familiar frame with her own body. His one human heart hammered against her chest and he held her there just a bit longer than he might have meant to, but it was a bit endearing, after all. She wrapped her own arms around, wedging them underneath and for a species that was so focused on mating they sure did like their hugs. 

Jack held her like she was the only thing keeping him from falling to pieces, but he couldn’t quite seem to stop the restless movements lower down. 

He made an excellent case for it, as much with the automatic little motions he didn’t seem to be able to control as the urges screaming out of every point of connection. The hands on her back never snatched, never clawed, but every last thought seemed to be boiled down to more, more, _more._

She wedged herself between his thighs and he immediately moved to facilitate, but she realized that wouldn’t actually work this time and awkwardly shifted up instead. Jack whined and then caught on, practically dragging her up in the same breath, and she nearly lost her balance getting her legs back under herself without kneeing him somewhere he would _not_ enjoy so much. “Captain!” she chided, and he went still as a statue, pressing himself down into the mattress like it’d become magnetized. 

“Sorry,” he said, but the look he gave her was far too eager to be properly chagrined. 

She rolled her eyes, but reached down and it was hardly difficult to reverse engineer something that she engaged in too rarely to even call a proper habit. 

She’d braced for the burn― Jack was practically radioactive at the best of times― but she got distracted watching his pupils blow out in real time and then he was rocking up and _that_ was a new angle, but was a bit brilliant. He rocked again, and his obliques jumped against her knees and it was all too easy to work out a motion that maximized contact.

The Doctor braced her hands against his chest and it was getting a bit slick with sweat and seemed to be heaving a bit more than usual. She leaned down to investigate, licking a line up, and Jack bucked like a Zarullian bronco. He still had his hands fisted in the sheets and she knew she heard something tear that time, but his pheromones were spiking like crazy, practically coating him, and the ache in her teeth thrummed almost pleasantly in response. 

“Doc,” Jack gasped, and she realized it was a question. 

She hummed a vaguely inquisitive note, chasing a bead of perspiration that ran back up into his collarbones. 

Jack seemed to choke, but managed to grit out his question. “Can I touch?” His throat worked against her mouth, practically begging for teeth. “I won’t grab!” 

“Hm?” She licked up a vibrating tendon and then registered the question. “Course you can.” Jack made a sound like she’d just ripped a serrated blade out of his lung, but his arms snapped up and in, catching at the last minute to turn it from a trap to an embrace. “Don’t have to ask,” she chided, but one of his hands slipped to her hip, practically pleading, and she rolled down to accommodate, getting another one of those fascinating choked sounds and a delirious flood of sensations. She groaned just at the echo and let her own barriers down a bit more, the fingers of one hand sliding into place at his temple. “…Could I…?”

Jack started to nod, froze before he dislodged her fingertips, and spat out a bizarre mix of pleas, curses and completely unrealistic threats instead. 

The Doctor barely heard him, practically drowning in the reactions that were too complicated for words, flooding her long-neglected senses. There was the base human urge to connect, sure, but it was magnified and distilled by centuries of non-evolution. And underlying that, there was something far too fragile, stretched and suspended in time, but unable to break. And threaded through the core of _that,_ where Jack shouldn’t be able to fit anything at all, there was something so pure she couldn’t bear to think of it as love. It was strung so tightly it felt like it had no choice but to break. 

“Don’t,” Jack begged. “ _Please._ ”

The Doctor backed off immediately, not sure when she’d forced her way so dangerously close. “Sorry,” she said, and wondered if she should disengage completely, but Jack objected to that so clearly it left her ears ringing. “Don’t hafta _shout_ …”

Jack barked out a laugh and it sounded strangely far away, but another brilliant wave of luxurious fulfillment washed her back into her own mind and she realized she’d pulled Jack right in with her. And that really wasn’t an acceptable slip at all, but Jack didn’t mind more than he minded anything else, poking around like a curious pup.

He rankled a bit at the comparison and the concept of countless millennia swirled up indignantly. “Hardly a _pup!_ ” But he got distracted almost immediately, tripping over himself as he realized he’d crossed a barrier that only a handful of humans had ever even been aware of. 

That aching sense of wonder welled, but he at least tried to tamp it down when she flinched away from it. He packed himself down and in, clearly once again under the strange assumption that if he could just be small and still enough she might forget he was there. 

As if she could ever forget he was there. 

He fumbled it a bit, embarrassed, but it had been so long since she’d been able to connect with _anyone_ like this, and Jack clearly wanted it as well. So much it _ached._

He bucked and arched on the physical plane, and the sensations ricocheted through both of them like a stray bullet.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” she meant to warn, but instead she drew him deeper, luxuriating in so much contact after so long without. 

Jack never turned down an offer for more, and if there was anyone in the Universe she couldn’t damn any further, it _had_ to be him. 

She regretted the thought as soon as she had it, but Jack didn’t so much as flinch. “It’s okay,” he said, stretched out like a sacrifice. His hand grasped at hers where it was braced over his heart. “Whatever you need,” he offered and groaned when she dug in in response. 

“Don’t need to _hurt_ you,” she said, and forced her hand back open. She couldn’t quite make herself say it, but for just a moment, she let him see for himself.

A single star that would never burn out, set into the endless sky… How could she _not_ love that?

Something spiked, sharp and _brilliant,_ and it completely flooded the connection, forcing them both back into the physical plane with the brute force of tsunami. 

The Doctor snatched Jack as close as she could and he gripped her right back, hard enough to bruise, and then they came down, panting.

“Ah,” she said finally. “You _are_ a bit good at that.”

Jack laughed, bright and blinding. “You’re not half bad yourself!” The hand at the back of her head was far too hot still, but the gentle fingers he carded through her hair kept her from commenting. For the moment. 

She slid off to the side with a disgusting squelch, but didn’t comment on that either. Jack rolled onto his side like he was pulled by an invisible string, and she let him wedge a knee between hers because his thigh was softer than her own bones anyway. 

“Gonna need another shower,” she grumbled, but it came out a bit garbled with her lips pressed into his shoulder. She snuck a quick taste to confirm; his pheromone levels were still inexcusably high, even for him. “Can’t set you loose around any humans like this. You’ll set off a cataclysmic event.” 

His tendons tightened against her mouth. “Could stay here for a bit. If you’re so worried.” His voice was carefully neutral. 

The Doctor breathed in and out, more relaxed than she’d been in decades. “Suppose you could,” she said, matching his light tone. “Might’ve earned a bit of rest, between the two of us.”

Jack’s grip tightened, somehow pulling her even closer and making it hard to breathe, but she could feel his single human heart thudding away like it always would be, and it wasn’t the worst thing to be pressed up against. 

“Don’t seduce mah ship while ‘m sleepin’,” she mumbled, wedging herself into a more comfortable position, eyes already closing.

“No promises.” Jack chuckled and let himself be rearranged like an unwieldy stuffed bear.

Just before she drifted off, he shifted just enough for his forearm to press into her back and she let the steady single pulse lull her the rest of the way to sleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> I’m also on [tumblr](https://1-of-those-things.tumblr.com/).


End file.
